| |
| HAPPY Song-sparrow, that on woodland side | |
| Or by the meadow sits, and ceaseless sings | |
| His mellow roundelay in russet pride, | |
| Owning no care between his wings. | |
| |
| He has no tax to pay, nor work to do: | 5 |
| His round of life is ever a pleasant one; | |
| For they are merry that may naught but woo | |
| From yellow dawn till set of sun. | |
| |
| The verdant fields, the riverside, the road, | |
| The cottage garden, and the orchard green, | 10 |
| When Spring with breezy footstep stirs abroad, | |
| His modest mottled form have seen. | |
| |
| The cedar at the cottage door contains | |
| His nest; the lilac by the walk as well, | |
| From whence arise his silver-swelling strains, | 15 |
| That echo loudly down the dell. | |
| |
| And when at dewy eve the farmer lies | |
| Before his door, his children all around, | |
| From twig to twig the simple sparrow flies, | |
| Frightened to hear their laughter’s sound. | 20 |
| |
| Or when the farm-boy with his shining spade, | |
| Freshening the mould around the garden flowers, | |
| Disturbs him, timid but not yet afraid, | |
| He chirps about him there for hours. | |
| |
| And when, his labor o’er, the urchin leaves | 25 |
| The haunted spot, he seeks some lofty spray, | |
| And there with ruffled throat, delighted, weaves, | |
| Gushing with joy, his lovely lay. | |
| |
| Perchance, his nest discovered, children come, | |
| And peer, with curious eyes, where lie the young | 30 |
| And callow brood, and then, with ceaseless hum, | |
| He, shrew-like, scolds with double tongue. | |
| |
| A little while, and on the gravelled walk | |
| The nestlings hop, or peer between the grass, | |
| While he sits watching on some blossom stalk, | 35 |
| Lest danger might toward them pass. | |
| |
| He sees the cat with stealthy step, and form | |
| Pressed closely to the ground, come creeping through | |
| The whitewashed fence, and with a loud alarm | |
| He flies; and they—they swift pursue. | 40 |
| |
| So passes Summer; and when Autumn treads | |
| With sober step the yellowing woods and vales, | |
| A mellower song the gentle sparrow sheds | |
| From orchard tree or garden pales. | |
| |
| And, as the nights grow cold and woodlands dim, | 45 |
| He seeks, with many a kin, a warmer clime, | |
| And perching there, along some river’s rim, | |
| Fills up with song the solemn time. | |
| |
| But, with the sun of March, his little soul, | |
| Warm with the love of home, impels him where, | 50 |
| In bygone hours, he owned love’s sweet control; | |
| And soon he breathes his native air. | |
| |
| And then again his merry song rings out, | |
| And meadow, orchard, valley, wood, and plain | |
| Ring with his bridal notes, that seem to flout | 55 |
| Dull echo with their silver strain. | |
| |
| And so his round of life runs ever on: | |
| Happy, contented, in his humble sphere | |
| He lives, loves, sings, and, when the day is gone, | |
| Slumbers and dreams, devoid of fear. | 60 |
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